High Altitude
by trascendenza
Summary: SR, begins at the discussion Richard and Lois have about Lois's Superman articles. Do note: this is a pre slash story that will develop into slash. That means the early chapters are mostly gen, but the later ones will not be.
1. Chapter 1: Disconnections

Richard held the glass of wine delicately in his hand, rolling the stem between his fingers; maybe if he could look casual on the outside he could feel that way inside.

Not likely.

He watched Lois's lips move as she made her excuses, "I wrote so many articles about Superman, Richard," picking up the emotional rivulets in her studied nonchalance, a mirror of his own.

"…but did you?" The pause that stretched into an eternity between them, echoing in the chasm that widened a bit more each year. The edges fell in further each year, every time they agreed to put off the ceremony again, every time Lois overrode his parenting decisions (and every time he let her), the nights when all he saw of her in bed was the outline of her body, turned away from him, but ultimately, it was that expression in her eyes when she looked up, searching, hoping, wanting. She never looked at him that way.

"No."

And with that, their exchange entered into the territory of mutual lies, the lies they told to stay together, to stay comfortable. A part of him wished she had said yes; he wanted to argue, to yell at her, to feel…something. Something other than resigned to all this.

"Mommy, can I have my peas now?" Jason asked, tugging on her shirt, face up-turned, expression plaintive.

She kneeled down, ruffling his hair, "In a sec, sweetie, you want to go upstairs and get your pills?"

"Oooo-kay," he said, and she kissed him on the top of the head, watching as he ran off.

She went over to the cabinet, switching into Reporter Lois mode. "Richard, you have absolutely nothing to worry about, you know that, right? Superman was just the a phase I went through." She set down the napkins while he grabbed the utensils. _A phase? Since when have you been the kind of woman who goes through phases, Lois?_

She smiled, touching his arm, "I'm old enough to know better than to fall for the whole spandex-cum-superpowers thing, especially now that I have the real deal."

He grinned back, "You're willing to give up the chance at lower atmosphere sex for me?"

She punched him in the arm, suppressing giggles as Jason came back. Balance was restored, for the moment, but it was only a matter of time.

They had a perfectly nice dinner. Just like they had a perfectly nice family. But what if that wasn't enough anymore?

* * *

Kal-El closed his eyes, felt the vacuum pressing in all around him in the endless plateaus of black, broken only by the brilliance of the stars. His mind filtered through the millions of sounds that washed over him in the silence of space; in this utter stillness he could almost hear the eddies and currents of the universe wash around him, could almost see the earth respiring. He heard a mother crying for her lost child, born premature; was this what it felt like to be inside a womb? Being held aloft in the darkness, supported on all sides, drifting with the heartbeats and flow of the mother's blood? He let himself drift with it, let the cacophony of life fade into the background. 

In a mind that usually held thousands of thoughts simultaneously, only one could be heard: _she doesn't love me_. He wasn't always sure he understood love, the various human expressions of it that ranged from the softest of kisses to the trajectory of a bullet. What he did know was that he had wanted hers, had wanted it since that first moment they met. She'd done something he never expected, something he hadn't realized he wanted until he had it.

She'd treated him like just another man.

The sensation was addictive; he could down a handle of vodka and walk in a straight line afterwards, snort a whole lab full of methamphetamines with sneezing, but the sarcasm in her voice, the no-nonsense-I'm-here-to-get-my-interview-and-you-better-cooperate rapport, the constant challenge in her voice, asking him to prove to her that he was worth her time—that kept him going back.

But somewhere in those five years, the cravings had subsided, dulling down to a slight hunger, and eventually into nothing. Seeing her tonight had sparked it once more, but it was almost like the pale memories of the need; something was missing. And in the void never-ending, he'd found the ruins of his ancestry and at the sight of the cragged rock, black and hard and unwelcoming, floating debris of a home he would never know, he felt something else scream inside him, a desperation so overwhelming that he wanted to hurl himself headfirst into the poisonous wasteland and end it all there.

He wanted someone who could understand.

_She doesn't love me. And she doesn't understand_.

He hurtled towards the Earth, letting all the cries of anguish and fear fill him to the brim. But they still weren't loud enough to refute the truth.


	2. Chapter 2: Truth and Lies

"My… Richard is a good man."

She lowered her head, as if breaking eye contact could strengthen her resolve to believe what she was saying.

"And you've been gone a long time."

The simple words hit him with a stunning velocity; the truth of it overwhelming—he had been gone a long time. She would never know how long, the aching stretch of five lightless years, because she would never ask. She wouldn't ask Superman beyond the facts for her story, and she had yet to speak more than five words to Clark since his return. He turned over the memories in his head, the snapshots of their time together, crystal clear but filtered through the solitude that now defined him. Had it always been this way? Wasn't she the only one who had wanted more from him than just his strength?

He remembered the soft curves of her underneath his hand, so fragile, their legs intertwined and the laughter in her eyes when he asked the questions of a teenage boy, afraid of hurting her, afraid of letting her down. The images of that night were worn down by repeated viewings.

And when she had whispered his name against his ear, breathless and desperate, for just that moment, he felt something like love bordering on heartbreak. _Superman_.

Here they were again, the fearless Ms. Lane and Superman. But Kal-El was no longer the same man who had left Earth, full of confidence and hope, and Lois was no longer the young reporter who could fly away with him at a moment's notice, the same woman who had offered him everything she had in that one word.

He had been gone a long time.

"I know," he said.

* * *

Clark chewed on his burrito, not tasting a thing, and watched Lois out of the side of his eyes. He could hear her pulse jumping against her wrist, see the pink flush of her skin in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the office.

"Tell the truth now," Richard said, knife and fork pausing in the midst of cutting up Jason's dinner. Jimmy promptly stuffed his mouth to the brim, sensing the tension in the room.

"Have you been smoking?"

She laughed a little, pulse slowing down, "No. No, I haven't."

_Why can't you tell them the truth, Lois?_

Richard nodded, dissatisfied but deciding to save his suspicions for another, "Well, good. We do have a boy to set an example for, after all. Here's your veggie wrap," he said, holding it out for her. She took it quickly, following Jimmy's example and downing half of it in one bite.

"So how're you settling back in, Clark?" Richard asked, sitting down next to Jason, arm around the back of his son's chair.

"What?" Clark said, jerking his head up from the sounds of Lois chewing, eyes wide.

"Is it strange to be back after so long, I mean. Five years—I can't imagine."

Three pairs of eyes watched him, waiting for an answer.

"Well… uhhh… I'm very happy to be back. With all of you."

"We're happy to have you back, too, Mr. Clark!" Jimmy said around a mouthful of half-chewed beef.

Clark smiled, "Well, thanks, Jimmy." He leaned his chin on his hand, looking down at the table, "I… learned a lot while I was gone. More than I ever thought I would."

"It's good to be back. But it's hard. It's not what I imagined. Of course I knew—I expected things to be different—but—"

Then he looked over at Lois, busy with her veggie wrap, and his tongue rolled itself into the back of his throat and refused to come out. "I—well, I didn't think—wasn't thinking—"

Richard interjected, "You didn't realize that you'd be the one who changed the most?"

Clark pulled up short, blinking. His tongue slowly resumed its normal position. "Well…yes!...that's it exactly. How did you know?"

"Been on a few long stints myself, I think I've been in your shoes before. None quite so long, but there's always an adjustment period, afterwards. You don't have to worry, we all understand, right guys?" Richard smiled.

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically even though he wasn't totally sure what they were talking about, "Sure do!"

Lois looked up from fiddling with her wrapping paper, torn into about forty stamp-size pieces. "What? I'm sorry, my mind was a million miles away. Were we talking about the blackout?"

* * *

The blue waters flooded over the window of the door in a cascade, sealing off the last meager hope they had of escape. Richard couldn't wrap his mind around the enormity of what was happening.

They were going to die.

His wife and his child were going to sink into the bottom of the ocean with him, there was no alternate ending, there was nothing he could do. He looked at Jason, wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, that they'd make it out of here. But from the look on Jason's face he already knew. Lois rested in his other arm, limp as a rag doll, unmoving since the door had knocked her with a sickened _thwack_ on the head.

Richard's eyes were drawn inexorably back to the roiling depths, but in his mind he saw that afternoon in the hospital, after thirteen hours of exhausting labor and promises to never let another man touch her again, Lois gave birth to their Jason, a week and a half early. The happiest day of his life. Lois's hair plastered around her face, ragged with exhaustion, but when she saw her face lit up with something he'd never seen before; it was as brilliant as the sun breaking through the clouds, a ray of light so bright that it was temporarily blinding. He held his son as carefully as fine china, awed at how tiny he was, the perfection that was his ten fingers and toes, his mouth sucking at the air looking for his mother.

"_He takes so much after you, Lois, it's incredible."_

"_I can't believe that such a beautiful little boy just put me through those thirteen hours of pure agony." She touched his nose._

_Richard laughed. "Wait until he's a teen."_

"_Oh, God. Hopefully he won't learn to talk until he's twenty."_

"_Good luck. With your genes I bet he'll have picked up a pen by the time he's one and be interviewing his nanny by the time he's two."_

_She smiled, eyelids fluttering._

"_You're exhausted, sweetie, let the nurses take him. You need some rest."_

"_But I never want to let him go."_

_He smiled, putting his hand over hers. "I think I know how you feel."_

He pulled Jason closer, throat closing up at the memory, unable to reconcile that someone so recently come into the world could leave it so quickly. _There's gotta be a way I can get us out. There has to be._ He was still desperately running through the possibilities when he felt the ship begin to move, up and up until it broke the surface again, the pane of glass clear once more.

_Oh my God_.

All the gut-grabbing fear that had paralyzed him slowly drained away, leaving him weak; he hugged Jason close, kissing him on the cheek, "We're going to be okay, son, we're going to be okay," and the door flew off, barely time to register what was happening before Superman was leaning over him, holding out his arm, "Take my hand." Richard steadied himself, letting go of the railing, suppressing the panic as he sank, and then he was being lifted, held secure, "You have them?"

He tightened his grip around them both and nodded. The water released its hold on them, falling away quickly, and Superman put his arms around all three of them, gentle steel, and flew them back to the plane.

_Thank God, thank God, thank God, thank God._

Back in the plane, he got Jason strapped in lifted Lois off the floor, seeing that she was breathing normally. _Thank—_the mantra in his head paused—_no, not God. Thank him_. He looked back at Superman, standing outside the plane; he had greeted the sight of him on the news with distaste and the shadow he cast over his life with Lois with anger. Now he could barely contain the strength of his relief, his gratitude.

"I don't know how to thank you." He said, knowing the feeble words didn't begin to scratch at the depths of what he wanted to say.

Superman just smiled his enigmatic smile, eyes kind, and inclining his head, "No need." His eyes moved to Lois, darting over her in mere seconds, "She'll be fine." Richard nodded, trusting his prognosis.

"I can't take off in this weather," he admitted, unwilling to put their lives at risk again for his pride's sake.

"I'll point you in the right direction."

As they flew out of the storm, turbulent to the point of nausea, a shard of a thought lodged in his mind, refusing to be dislodged, even under the torrent of adrenaline, fear, and worry.

_I can see why she loves him_.


	3. Chapter 3: Binding Glory

**Note:** This chapter is dedicated to Shanobi for all the encouragement and inspiration. I also want to thank everyone who has left a comment; they really mean a lot to me even if I don't have a chance to respond to each individually.

This chapter turned out a bit more emo than I was expecting, sorry about that. But I spent a weekend on a farm that reminded me very, very vividly of the Kent farm, and hopefully some of that experience was beneficial here.

* * *

Lois felt like an observer of the scene; somewhere in the hallway on the way to Superman's room she had slipped into reporter mode. Her sharp eyes picked up every detail along the way—the gleam of light on the slick linoleum, the gentle click-clack of her feels on the floor, Jason's fingers fidgeting in hers, the curious glances of the nurses and guards in the hallway to see visitors at the door of this room. She took it all in but processed none of it, unable to move beyond the premise of the story: Superman was dying.

"In here, Ms. Lane."

She watched the door swing open, still sure this was all a big misunderstanding. They must have hyped it up to sell more commercials; she'd always known that television was full of sensationalism. So she was here, ever the truth-fighter, to find out what was really going on. She had to find out. For her readers, for the people who needed Superman—for their son. Her mind tripped over the words, those two words that she had shared with another man all of Jason's life. _For… our son._

For anyone but herself.

But then there he was, laid out on the bed like a corpse, eyes closed, horribly unmoving. The antiseptic white sheet was pulled up to his chest and monitors beeped a sluggish pulse. Despite this, he was as beautiful as ever. He looked like the man she had once dreamed of—no suit, no flying, nothing superhuman or unusual about him, almost… normal. Nothing to remind her of inseparable barriers that had always stood between them. He was just as helpless as any other man.

"Is he going to be okay, mommy?" Jason asked.

"I don't know." She said automatically, but frowned slightly when she realized the stark truth in the statement.

"I hope so." Jason's face embodied everything she wished she could let herself feel. "I like him."

She smiled sad, squeezing his hand. "Me too." He squeezed back and then slipped his fingers from hers, walking to the other side of the room, making an investigation of the famed suit, lying neatly folded on a chair.

She brushed her hair back from her face, taking a deep breath, and started her thousand-mile journey to his bedside.

Step one. _You're beautiful, Lois._  
Step two. _You really get energy from the sun? You must be the most evolved creature we have on this planet_.  
Step three. _I can never forget how fragile humans are. I am reminded every second of the day._  
Step four. _Can you stay?_  
Step five. _I'm sorry, Lois._  
Step six. _How could you leave…us, like that?_  
Step seven. _I had to know._  
Step eight. _You've been gone a long time._  
Step nine. _The world is asking for a savior, Lois._  
Step ten. _But I'm not._

Fingertips on the fabric, so perfectly tucked in around him, then on his arm, skin flawless even in the harsh illumination of the hospital. She looked up at the mechanical chorus, his only company in this room, so empty of warmth and life. She had to wonder if he would mind, were he conscious. How did he find his comfort? His existence seemed to challenge the assurance that no man is an island. How could any mind survive five years in isolation undamaged? Although she had accumulated an encyclopedic knowledge of him, composed of all sorts of useful facts and a hard-hitting reporter's edge, she didn't understand what was behind the visage of the hero.

His disappearance had proven that.

She hadn't considered all the implications of it, too busy nursing and feeding her sense of betrayal to leave room for speculation or a genuine attempt at understanding what happened. Never once thought that he'd spent that time alone. Fantasies of him exploring life on other planets or flying off in a ship with some space hussy had taken hold in her mind, and even as she knew they were ridiculous, she almost believed them for lack of a better explanation. They'd eaten at her, spewing out in ugly words that she hurled at Richard, knowing he could take it, and finally culminating with her Pulitzer-winning achievement.

Thankfully, the sting of betrayal had lessened over time, sharp corners worn down by Jason's smiles and the maternal instinct that gave her a reason to get up in the morning.

Now, she understood, five years and twelve days too late: his departure had nothing to do with her.

_He was just looking for his home. He had the right to do something for himself._ She cradled his cheek, sorrow and regret closing up her throat and stealing her ability to articulate. She swallowed, closing her eyes to find strength. _He has to know._

"Can you hear me?" _You've always heard me. Always._ "They say that sometimes—people can hear…" _But you're not like other people, are you? None of the usual rules apply._

"I need to tell you—" She kept her voice for his ears only. She glanced over her shoulder to see that Jason was safe, safe from the truths he wasn't old enough to hear. He ran his fingers along the red emblem, innocently fascinated. _That suit might one day be his. When will he be old enough for me to tell him that? _She turned back, sighing. One step at a time.

She leaned down on the bed, bracing a hand on Superman's prone form. She shut her eyes when their cheeks came in contact; even in a coma he burned like an inferno. She licked her lips, willing the truth to come forward.

"This is your home. Your son… _our_ son, Jason, needs you. Please… don't leave us." She paused, gathering the words from the secret place she had buried them the day Jason was born. "I'll always love you." And that hardest one of all, whispered hoarse from the depths of her pain to the heights of her surrender. "Goodbye."

It was too much, too soon. Her careful constructs began to crumble around her, and she sought the familiar comfort, reduced back to an emotional snapshot that five years old and still hadn't healed. His lips were warm under hers, soft and pliant, but they held no life, no promise of more. This was what they had; nothing more, nothing less. She looked at the monitors, hope waning to a faint sliver, shaking her head slightly when they maintained their steady beat. _No fairy tale ending for us_.

She got up, gesturing Jason over, murmured something to him that she didn't even hear through the wall of numbness that surrounded her. She almost succeeded in maintaining it. They were almost out the door when he broke away again, hopping up on the bed and planting a kiss on the side of his father's head. The sight, rife with an untapped beauty, shattered her walls and let loose the torrent.

She took Jason's hand once more, blinking back tears. _I wish it could be that simple, Jason. I wish he could be your father, the husband I need._

_But what I want right now is someone who's… just a man._

The hospital door closed behind them, clicking shut on dreams of a young reporter who thought she could conquer the world with her pen, discover love in the skies, and would never, ever settle for anything less than the best.

* * *

**Binding Glory: Why the World Needs Superman**

By Lois Lane

_We have a lot of ideas about what heroes should or shouldn't be in our world. They should be all the things we need of them at the time, and they should never be anything less than perfect. To do so would be the greatest sin that a hero can commit; the sin of humanity. We do not want our heroes to be like us—we need them to be greater, something we can aspire to, a infallible model for the rest of us mere mortals to strive after._

_But a hero is no cut-and-paste character that we can move around on this crazy game of Life. We cannot, in all fairness, expect any more of a hero than we would ever expect of ourselves. The greatest heroism comes in not in acts of strength or valor; it comes in acts of weakness and fear. When Superman dove into the ocean, uprooting one of the greatest threats our earth has ever faced, and flew it off into space at the risk of his own life, he showed us why, once and for all, we need him. He offered up his life to us by facing his weakness, the greatest gift that any man can give._

_I declined a Pulitzer (don't ask, it was complicated) for an article that expected more of a hero than I would ever expect of myself. I asked for perfection where none is possible; I demanded explanations when none were my right; and, worst of all, I refused to even consider the possibility that Superman might be, just like the rest of us, be bound by a strong desire for home. I told him in no uncertain terms that we did not need him, that in fact, we were better off without him._

_I, in deepest regret and humility, retract every word of this statement. In my demands and assumptions, I was committing the worst crime that one can against a hero: I tried to bind his glory. For glorious he is. Only a fraction of his strength lies in his body of steel. He is one of the most amazing men I have ever had the privilege to meet, not because of his feats of strength, but because of his deep and unwavering compassion for every being on this Earth._

I, for one, have given up my crusade to bind this hero's glory. Whatever it is that he needs—whether he stays on Earth or not—I will stand behind him in full support. I don't know about you, but now that I have witnessed the full light of his glory, I could never bear to see it dimmed again.

* * *

Kal-El had been approaching his body through a slow crawl, sensation tingling through his skin patch by patch, sounds popping into his ears like the sporadic bursts of noises that come from flipping through radio stations too quickly. Consciousness skirted the shores of his mind, sea foam on the sand, depositing bits and pieces of information. The room was seventy-four degrees, forty-five percent humidity; he could hear the hum of the machines, the vents regulating the air flow up at the top corners of the walls. There were four people standing in the hallway and one walking in his direction. He heard her non-slip shoes squeaking on the floor, the even keel of her breathing. 

His eyes snapped open when all the pieces fell into place. He was out of the bed, suit held in one hand, and flying away from the hospital in the time it took for the nurse's heart to complete one pulsing contraction. He speared the puffy cumulus that was the first layer of cover on the sky, slicing through the currents of wind and rising high into the atmosphere. The air and clouds thinned around him simultaneously, dropping away and leaving him suspended in the drowning-clear blue. The sunlight drenched his skin in waves of white and gold, hues glowing warmth across the gentle curvature of his body; he closed his eyes and spread his arms wide, surrendering fully to the radiance. It soaked into him, singing electric sensation along his tendons and muscles, knitting together the wounds that lingered below the surface, braiding together sinews and breathing new life into his damaged cells. Within moments, he felt as if he was sparking hot voltage off the tips of his fingers, skin pulling taut when he brought his arms down, muscles pulled tight with the energy brimming in him.

He opened his eyes, vision completely restored, picking up the faint imperfections in the washed-out pastel before him. He put his suit back after only a millisecond of hesitation; the freedom that he found in the sun's welcoming rays was intoxicating, but he would not give it reign. Flying westward, he slowed his velocity and dropped into the lower cloud cover as he approached the patches of green and yellow fields, placed on the land like a checkerboard of corn and wheat. The driveway of the Kent farm was empty, a lonely road without his mother's old truck parked there.

He laid down in mid-air, setting himself horizontal; his cape billowed out below him and he lowered slowly into the cornfield, rustling the green leaves. It was cool and dark beneath the canopy and he was surrounded by the faint whispers of the leaves, shadows and light dancing as the sun tried to peek through. He knew that if he wanted to, he would be able to hear every sound in this field; the mice chattering away, every chitter and chatter of the insects, down the minutest curls of wind traveling through the stalks. His eyes could narrow in onto the bumpy surface of the plant fibers, and even further into the honeycomb pattern of the stomata on the underside of the leaves if he chose. But what he wanted right now was the blurred edges of what he assumed was human vision, the sounds filtering to his ears through layers of gauzy deafness.

He wanted to be human.

_

* * *

Clark threw his school bag behind him, grimacing when he heard it smack against the side of the barn, rattling the lunch box inside and probably bending his books. Jogging out to the field, he ran until the house was out of sight. He flopped down on his back, closing his eyes and trying to forget. Sometimes it seemed like he would never be able to do it. Listening to a pair jays fight over a stale crust of bread, he'd stopped blinking, stopped breathing. In the periphery of his mind, he'd noticed, but it hadn't seemed important—he was too busy rooting for the younger jay. When he'd blinked ten minutes later, the teacher was kneeling in front of his desk, a worried expression on her face, and he heard the boys snickering at him. A few of the girls were watching him, wide-eyed, their mouths compressed into frightened frowns. _

"_Are you okay, Clark?" Mrs. Howard had asked, tilting her head and pushing her glasses up on her nose, eyebrows meeting over the bridge of her nose._

"_Fine, ma'am. Sorry ma'am." He'd lowered his head, mortified. She'd let it go at that, nodding briefly before she went back to the front of the room and told them to turn to page forty-five. But he knew that he'd lied: there was nothing fine about him._

_He opened his eyes, looking up through the green, flares of light winking through the sharp edges as they moved with the breeze. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the pair of glasses he always kept there. Just in case. He put slipped them on, squinting when the world blurred over. No matter how he adjusted it would not clear, but still he persisted, unwilling to let them go. He put his hands over his ears to block out the buzzing trill of the crickets, the overwhelming roar of the wind in the sky, calling him, tempting him up and away from the earth, to a place that he could only travel by himself._

_The necessity for imitation had become apparent to him at a very young age. He'd learned to mirror what he saw around him, breathing in and out when others did, rubbing his eyes against dusty grit when they did. By now he had it down to an art--when they ran laps in class, he timed every in inhalation and exhalation just so to give the illusion that he was somehow affected by the physical activity. But sometimes he didn't want to pretend. But it was hard to forget the puzzled expressions, the girls gossiping in front of the lockers about how he was "a little weird," the concern that darkened his mother's face when she saw him off to school every morning. And harder to resist the temptation to throw perfect basket after perfect basket just to see Mr. Argyle's jaw drop to his knees, to straggle in the middle when they ran in class instead of running laps around every other student._

_He took his hands off his ears, slipped the glasses off his face. Standing up, he found that the tops of the corn barely went above his head. The world was shrinking in around him. It was no longer a place of endless possibility and adventure; not it seemed to rest in the palm of his hand. Somehow he knew that if he chose to, he could shatter it._

_He threw the glasses far off into the field, saying goodbye to them once and for all. The boy who'd once wore them no longer existed_


	4. Chapter 4: Echoes and Connections

**Author's note:** I tried with this chapter, I really did. But I wrote it out of order (something that I'm not very good at), so sorry if the beginning gets off to a rocky start that's why.

Thanks so much to Tin Heart for the beta and everything!

Oh, in case anyone was unsure, I'm a total feedback whore, so any and all comments are quite appreciated. I also _love_ concrit, so feel free to offer it if you have some; I can't guarantee I'll agree but I truly find every perspective useful. But many thanks to everyone who's reading, I have to admit when I started writing for this fandom I didn't expect any kind of readership so this has been truly wonderful. :-)

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Lois stared at the blank screen, cursor blinking a taunt in time with her tapping finger, her nail _clacking _softly on the F key. She sought to offer up a story that could not be told in the language of the news, that could only be shaped in words that were far too personal, outlined in events that until now, had been secret. The greatest lie she had ever told had resulted in an accolade she could not accept in good conscience, and now the greatest truth she could ever share might be the end of all that she had spent the last five years building. She removed her glasses, the metal chain tinkling, and dabbed at the corner of her eye.

_But you know it's the right thing_.

She thought of Jason kissing Superman in the hospital, an innocent gesture that in essence, was everything that she wanted for the both of them.

_They can have that, if you'll let them._

_If he lives._

Her face hardened into the won't-take-no-for-an-answer reporter's visage, fingers working a flurry across the keys, tapping out a rhythm that beat to the fervency of her need.

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Jason's eyes fluttered so slightly that no human eye would have noticed it, but Kal-El remained perfectly still until they once more settled into repose–he wasn't ready for Jason to wake up, though a part of him would have liked nothing more. But speaking to him as Clark was so much easier than this.

_Your son… _our _son, Jason, needs you_, she had said. He could see now what he hadn't noticed before–the gentle features that bore no resemblance to Richard's, the awkward gait that was so reminiscent of his own at that age. But what he had ignored most pointedly was the warmth that suffused his chest every time he saw Jason or heard him speak, the smile that came unbidden at the mere thought of him, the same warmth that threatened to overwhelm his senses at this very moment, infusing his every cell with the a knowledge that was, in the purest sense of the word, happiness._ I am a father. And this is… love._

It felt like home.

_The son becomes the father. _The image of Jor-El burned behind his eyes, stinging grief. _He is gone, once and for all. _His voice still echoed in Kal-El's mind, never to be forgotten._ But I am not alone._

_We are not alone._

"You will be different… sometimes you'll feel like an outcast." He thought of the cornfield, the lonely afternoons spent in the sky, and his heart constricted with the awareness that Jason would have his own battles to fight, ones that even Kal-El could not understand. "But you'll never be alone."

_I will always be here._

"You will make my strength your own. You will see my life through your eyes, as your life will be seen through mine."

_The path will not be an easy one, but I will watch over your every step._

"The son becomes the father…and the father, the son."

He raised his hand, touching Jason's hair with the lightest of caresses, afraid to disturb his slumber, afraid to overstep his bounds.

_You, my son, are the reason I came back._

The reason he didn't fall from oblivion down into the abyss; the reason that instead of surrendering to the siren's call of destruction after he had reached the culmination of his journey, he turned around. He'd been suspended in and endless moment of decision, hovering between a home he'd never known and a world that would never know him. The broken remains of one of the universe's greatest civilizations begged the question of why Kal-El's life was worth more than theirs had been, why he still lived while they were nothing more than detritus orbiting a dead chunk of rock. Yet he had turned from the ruins and gone back; he had not given up. Lying in this bed was the reason why.

_And the reason I will stay._

He withdrew when he saw that Jason was rousing, out of the room just a millisecond before he awoke, already wishing he'd been able to stay longer. Jason sat up, blinking sleepily, and smiled hugely when he saw Kal-El, running to the window and leaning out, waving enthusiastically.

"Goodnight!"

Kal-El was aware of Lois beneath him, turning her head when Jason spoke. The cigarette she came out here not to smoke was dangling between her fingers, a prop for their familiar scene. With an effort, he turned his gaze from Jason to her, noting her thoughtful expression.

"I–" She closed her lips on the words, sticking instead to their script. "Will we be… seeing you around?"

Lingering between them were the faint ties of what they'd once been, moonlight whispers and fading intimacy; it was a tapestry that had not weathered the test of time. Kal-El felt the last residuals of it burning away when he looked at her and saw nothing more than Jason's mother. And he knew, somehow, that was how she wanted to be seen.

"I'm always around," He replied.

Flying up into the atmosphere, his thoughts echoed the last time: _she doesn't love me_. But the thought was no longer sharp and barbed, rather a well-worn stone rounded down by the pound of the surf, smooth and weighted in his hand, and it slipped from his fingers effortlessly, sinking deep into the water. Irretrievable.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Richard crumpled up the article and leaned back in his chair, lobbing it towards the trash can with a scowl. He'd tried everything to get his inspiration flowing—writing on the computer (read e-mail instead), writing by hand (devolved quickly into doodles that revealed a lot more of his subconscious than he wanted to see right now), and even dictation (he'd quickly gotten bored of singing random snippets of his favorite songs off-key). But nothing was coming—no inspiration, no motivation, no article.

He knew he'd been a veritable zombie since it happened, unable to focus, hardly able to leave Jason at the school when all he wanted to do was hold his son close, reassure them both that they were okay. But he couldn't stop thinking about Lois passed out in his arm, head fallen to the side, the confusion in Jason's eyes, the water crashing down, down—

_I could have lost them. If he hadn't come, I _would_ have lost them._ The fear, borne in that moment of utter helplessness and only burgeoning further as time passed, clenched in his chest like a tight fist, squeezing the breath out of his lungs and forcing him to close his eyes. A deep breath in; it lessened, but did not leave. He rubbed his fingertips on his forehead, trying to push away the headache that was threatening.

_I don't know what I would have done—_

He opened his eyes, blinking, and picked up the photograph off his desk, holding it in his hands, a physical ward against these thoughts. It was Lois and him, Jason between them, smiling and squinting in the sun. Happy.

_They're here. We're here. We're okay._

He ran his thumb over the angular black frame, wistful for that time. Jason's hair was a little shorter, Lois's was darker, Richard didn't have that t-shirt anymore. Two years hadn't changed that much, especially with Jason's slow growth. Their current family portrait was nearly identical. He didn't like to think about the reason he left this old one on their desk. His copy was lying under a stack of papers To Be Filed, mixed in with the proof copies and final edits, underneath pictures of the Nigerian minister and South America's latest dictator.

He set down the frame and shuffled through the stack of papers, scattering them all around his usually neat desk, stopping stock still when he found it, gaze riveted. He'd disliked it upon sight; the first words on his tongue when he saw it were _We need a refund_. But when he'd examined it more closely he saw there was nothing really wrong.

Except for that the fact that they weren't happy. _We aren't okay_.

Lois was sitting next to him but looked as if she were in her own world; her hand was on Jason's shoulder and her smile was tight, small; it didn't even come near her eyes. Richard saw himself as her mirror reflection, running on auto-pilot when the photographer has said "smile!" It had been taken the day before Superman came back–ironic, that.

He laid it down on the desk, bringing his hands together and unconsciously rubbing his index finger over his ring finger. He'd always found that being in a near-death situation renewed his appreciation for his friends and loved ones, helping him appreciate all that they meant to him, cementing the bonds–but it also dissolved weak ones. He had been so sure that their relationship would fall into the former, but if anything, they had become strangers literally overnight. There none of the frosty politeness she'd been using since Superman returned; it wasn't the random blow-ups he'd weathered the past five years, either. It was just as if they'd simultaneously realized they had nothing in common–nothing but Jason.

_But a child doesn't make a marriage._

Two years. It was two years ago she'd agreed to marry him. A lot could change in two years. A lot _had_ changed in two years.

_But not that. She's still not ready._

_She probably never will be_.

The tightness in his chest eased just a bit more. For the first time he saw that, perhaps, they didn't need a marriage to be good parents. Or to be happy. He'd thought that taking their relationship to the next step was the natural course of events; now he could see that the only natural progression he cared about what was made them all happy. The laughter that wasn't constrained with things unsaid, the silences that were easy and not humming with tension, the Sunday picnics and watching cartoons together and ordering in Chinese so they didn't have to change out of their sweats–that was what he missed. Lois was never going to be wife, but he wanted their friendship back.

And if he had to take back his ring to get it… he was ready to take that step.

He slipped his cell phone out of his pocket, wondering if Lois would be interviewing or possibly on her way back to the office. Best to call and double check that she'd be in tonight for dinner… and see if she'd be willing to talk. The tiny rectangular window displayed 11:54PM.

_Lunchtime already? Have I really spent four hours in here and not gotten a thing done? Perry's going to kill me._

He put the cell phone back in his pocket and set to quickly straightening up his desk; best to get food while he could, because Perry would really kill him if he tried to sneak away during the non-designated lunch hour. He figured if he was going to brood he may as well do it on a full stomach. Shrugging on his jacket, he saw the two regular lunch groups leaving out of the front, jostling, laughing, relieved to be taking a break even if it was only thirty-five minutes timed down to the second. Richard wasn't sure where he'd gotten lost in the shuffle but he had yet to receive an invitation to join any of them for lunch; it was only his pride prevented him from asking, _pretty please_? He was often popping in and out of the office on assignments, so it wasn't such a surprise, and he could tell with every interaction that his colleagues couldn't quite forgot his familial ties to Perry.

Not that he hadn't made any friends in his time here, but judging from Jimmy's empty desk he was going to be in the dark room through lunch. Lois was nowhere in sight and if she wasn't here he knew he wouldn't be able to catch her for a meal. He also had no desire to eat with his uncle, because even though he got some of the most delicious delivery that Metropolis had to offer, the man talked work non-stop and Richard wasn't in the mood to do any, much less talk about it.

He strode briskly out of his office, hoping to avoid Perry, suddenly ravenous now that he realized the time. Glancing around the office once more to make sure Jimmy hadn't secretly emerged from his very own Bat Cave of Photography, he spotted Clark at his desk, pulling what appeared to be a sandwich out of a paper bag. Richard slowed his steps and changed directions mid-stride, cocking his head to the side in curiosity and approaching Clark's desk. _He's all-American I know, but that can't be…_

"Peanut butter and jelly?" He asked, smiling for the first time today. Possibly the first time this week.

Clark started, dropping the sandwich onto his desk and proceeded to rotate the whole upper half of his body in Richard's direction. His face was a mask of horrified surprise, glasses creeping down his nose and revealing his eyes, so clear and bright they almost seemed unnatural.

"Oh, um, yes–" Clark picked it up, holding it out with his eyes wide, "Did you want some?"

Laughter bubbled up in Richard's throat, irrepressible, but he kept it down when it became apparent that Clark was absolutely serious.

"How about some real lunch? I know a good joint within walking distance."

Clark blinked, faceted gemstones shuttering in and out with each one. "Well, you see I would, but, ahm–" He set down the sandwich again and put his hands into his pockets, pulling the material out to illustrate his point. He shrugged his shoulders, wearing an unreadable but hilarious expression.

"My treat. C'mon, we have to get going if we want to get back in time."

Clark looked down at his pockets, then at his sandwich, and once more back at Richard. Richard inwardly smirked, thinking there were no excuses left.

"Okay."

Richard loved being right. "Let's go then."

---------------------------------------------------

Clark twirled his straw around the rim of his milkshake, red and white traditional stripes to go with the décor, looking down inside the glass at the melted chocolate rather than at Richard. The dissertation on the problems of (and solutions to) the intra-office politics of The Daily Planet was actually quite fascinating, but Clark knew he'd be lying to himself if he pretended that he'd accepted the invitation for the sake of conversation. The question clamored around inside his mouth, begging to be released, two little simple words that now had a world of meaning to him.

Finally Richard wound down, presenting a well-thought out conclusion and supporting it with factual evidence—ever the reporter, and a good one at that. Clark carefully let go of the straw, crossed his hands, and did his best to look as if this were just a casual inquiry; it took all his strength not to lean forward and give Richard the look of inquisition that he usually reserved for criminals.

He pursed his lips, wrinkles dimpling at the corners of his mouth, glancing at his plate of fries, the waitress to his left, the window to his right that showed a slice of the hustle and bustle of Metropolis. Anywhere but at Richard, who he could feel glancing at him curiously. _What are you so afraid of hearing?_

"So…" he blurted out, "how's Jason?"

The die was cast.

Richard sighed, closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "He's doing fine." When he opened his eyes he saw what was no doubt a very confused expression on Clark's face. "I don't sound like I believe myself, do I? It's just the strangest thing…" he waved his hand as if dismissing it and shook his head, laughed lightly. "I don't want to bore you, I always promised myself I'd never be one of those parents who made my friends sit through all my diatribes about Jason and then scare them right out of having kids."

Clark smiled; he was still holding the inquisitor's look in his arsenal but Richard's consideration was so ludicrous in this situation that he couldn't help it. "I—I don't think you have to worry about that with me. He's—seems like—he must be a swell kid. And… I want to know what it's like, being a parent." He smile grew despite himself. "So you'd be doing me a favor."

Richard grinned back, face lit up and he spoke with animation, "It's the best thing in the world, Clark. Sounds cliché, doesn't it? I used to think nothing could compare to the excitement of traveling, being on the breaking edge of the news. But the day Jason was born was just… indescribable. Everything else has paled in comparison."

Clark swallowed, face ashen. The french fry in his mouth tasted like salted cardboard. _You wanted this, remember_.

"But then…" Richard's tone was dropped, his hand came to rest on the tabletop, eyes turned inward. "There are the times like this. You would think that when you have a child who's sick that all you want is for him to get better, right?"

Clark started when he saw Richard was looking at him for a response and blinked.

"You must worry all the time."

"Precisely. But now the doctors seem to be running twice as many tests as they did before, and every time I talk to them I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. They seem to think this is all too good to be true, 'a very sudden remission that might not last'?" Richard said, doing quotation marks with his fingers and looking thoroughly displeased. "Honestly, Clark—if they can't even figure out what caused the remission in the first place, I don't know how they can tell me it won't last. Or that something worse will happen? And Lois seems as if she hasn't got a care in the world; she keeps telling me we don't need even to take him." He stopped, looking surprised at himself. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to vent like that."

Clark could hardly speak, taking in every facet of Richard's expression, words, and body language. There was no lies, no posturing here, just a depth of concern that was more of an indication of fatherhood than Clark's own genes were. Clark hadn't prepared for this at all; none of the things he'd presupposed were true. _What were you expecting, exactly? You… you were adopted. This isn't any different._

Abashed at his own assumptions, he found himself understanding a common truth between them that now refused to be denied. "…you just want to know that your son's going to be okay."

Richard nodded, his relief evident. "Exactly. I'm glad you don't think I'm some kind of crackpot; I was starting to wonder. They're treating me like I am one for worrying so much. I know that I shouldn't. The reasonable part of me knows they can't tell me anything one way or another… I just wish someone could, you know?"

Clark was able to process everything that Richard had said, all the implications of his physical movements—eye contact indicated honesty, the waver in his voice showed worry, the strain around his eyes revealed that this wasn't an unfamiliar train of thought—but even as he saw the opportunity he'd been looking for, a part of him didn't want to take it.

_You owe it to Jason._

"Well." He took a breath, choosing his words very with great care, doling each one out very mindfully and with some difficulty. "I… knew a child like Jason. He was different than the other children."

Clark pushed his glasses up with the side of his finger and swallowed hard, forced to pause. He'd never spoken like this, to anyone. But just like every hardship he'd faced in life, he went through with it, because he had to.

When he continued his voice was low, solemn. "It wasn't the easiest time for him, growing up. But—his parents were great. The important thing was…" Clark spread his hands, as if presenting the truth in them, "he knew he was loved. He turned out just fine. I—I think Jason will, too."

Richard's brow furrowed, his eyes unfocusing, as if lost in thought; Clark immediately regretted speaking. _Did I overstep my bounds? As far as he knows I'm just Random Reporter, Clark Kent. I can't—_

"I think that is the most comforting thing I have heard since this whole thing started, Clark. I really don't know how to thank you."

Clark inclined his head, a little sheepish. "My pleasure." And it was the truth.

Richard cocked his head, looking behind Clark, "Whoa, look at the time! I can't believe I talked your ear off and hardly let you eat. You'll have to let me make it up to you—lunch for the rest of the week is on me."

Clark opened his mouth to argue, but found that he didn't want to. "As long as I get to choose my own order."

"And here I thought anything would be better than peanut butter and jelly."

"But it's the breakfast of champions… lunch and dinner, too, in my case."

"Well, in that case, I'm insisting you come over to our place tonight for dinner and I won't hear a word of argument on the subject. Lois and I individually aren't culinary geniuses but when we combine our mediocrity we can actually produce a filling meal."

Looking back on it later, Clark couldn't have pinpointed the moment when he became more nervous at the prospect of dinner with Richard than of dinner with Lois, but he froze up as soon as he realized what Richard was inviting him to and the response got stuck in his throat.

"Don't look like a deer caught in the headlights–we don't bite. Bring some wine, or, well, pick some flowers–they're some nice ones at the side of the road–and be there at seven-thirty. I'll e-mail you the address." He dropped two bills on the table and patted Clark on the shoulder. "C'mon, we better get back to the office before Perry hatches up a scheme to replace us with a pair of article-writing robots that won't need to take lunch breaks."

Clark just looked after him, bewildered, rubbing his hand over the spot Richard had just touched. He was loathe to return to work. And how did they expect him to work after a lunch like that, anyway?


	5. Chapter 5: Thicker Than Blood

**Author's Note:** Sorry this took like... a million years. I'm certainly hoping the next chapter will be quicker. I'm looking foward to write some non-angsty stuff soon ;) And I will get to the slash if it's the last thing I do, dangit!

* * *

Clark brushed his hand off on his thigh for the fourth time; the flowers he was holding, although pretty, had gotten him a bit dirty when he picked them and he certainly didn't want to show up with grubby hands. His mother had taught him better than that.

_Not that you had to show up at all. You _could _have called and canceled, you know._ He couldn't say what it was that brought him to this doorstep. All logic would advise against it and even common sense told him to run in the other direction at superhuman speeds. Yet something had compelled him here, had inspired him on the walk over to break twenty daisies cleanly at their stems, assembling this meager (but heartfelt) bouquet.

He gripped the daisies nervously when he realized that Lois might be answering the door—did she even know he was coming? The super-human running in the opposite direction option was starting to look much more appealing.

But the face that was silhouetted by the foyer light was most decidedly masculine; Richard's now-familiar mouth curves greeted him. "Clark! Right on time. Welcome, welcome."

Clark grimaced-smiled, looking down, glasses dropping, and held forward the flowers. "For you. Uh—for you and Lois. Flowers. You said to bring flowers."

Richard's grin spread. "So I did. I didn't know you'd take me so literally." He took the bouquet in one hand, fingertips leaving faint electricity behind on Clark's knuckles. He turned it over appraisingly. "This is lovely, Clark. Thank you."

Clark shrugged and fought down the warm flush that wanted to spread in response to Richard's very warm smile.

"Come in, come in." He held his hand out and stepped back, gesturing with the bouqet in an _entre-vous_ motion. "Dinner's almost ready, we're just waiting for the roast to come out of the oven now. Here, let me take your coat."

He shrugged out of it the nanosecond he felt's Richard's fingertips brush his shoulders. "Anything I can, uh, help with?" Clark asked, secretly hoping the answer was no. He had no desire to bumble around the kitchen, like he knew he should; the weight of the glasses on the bridge of his nose dictated as much.

"No, you just make yourself at home and try to relax a little. Wine?"

Clark nodded vigorously; even if it wouldn't affect him greatly it felt safer to have it.

_What were you thinking, coming here? _His eyes connected for just an instant with Richard's, blue on blue, deepened into something new by the contact

_Oh, that's right. You weren't_.

They moved into the kitchen and Richard placed the flowers in a vase. The table was already set with four places, all the cutlery matched with the plates matched with the curtains. The flowers completed the presentation. Everything was so perfect.

All was in its right place.

Clark swallowed uncomfortably, breath halting slightly as his eyes skimmed the family portraits hanging on the wall. Jimmy hadn't been exaggerating—Lois has _a lot_ of them.

He looked back and forth between the table and kitchen, unsure if he should sit or stand or help or run. What he really wanted to do was burst through the ceiling and get himself far, far away from this place. No one had seen him yet except Richard—if he tried hard enough he could convince himself it wasn't rude to leave now. He could come up with some suitably bumbling excuse if he had to; no one need know that there was no gas for him to leave on because he had no apartment.

But his gaze was riveted by the vision of Richard and Lois, Jason sprawled across their laps. They were in a park, all wearing baseball hats, goofy smiles. _Jason's first baseball game?_ He closed his eyes, so desperately wishing he could have been there. His family crest felt like it was burning a condemnation in his chest. _This isn't yours. You can't just swoop in after five years and expect this to be yours._

His eyes snapped open when Richard placed an oven-mitted hand on his shoulder. "Clark, are you all right? You don't look so hot. Would you like to sit down?"

Clark took a shaky breath and nodded, all the excuses for leaving drying up on his tongue when he saw the kindness in Richard's eyes. "You just sit right there and I'll get you a glass of ice water."

"The wine, too, please," Clark mumbled and was grateful to see that Richard smiled.

"Coming right up."

Clark slid into the seat, a bit afraid to look into the kitchen, but there was just a stoveful of simmering pots and pans, a counter inhabited by two bottles of wine and an opener, and Richard walking over to the sink to fill his requests. Clark couldn't help but note Richard's well-fitted attire, the casual confidence in his stride, the practice with which he handled the wine opener, slipping the corks out with hardly a sound. He looked down at his own wool sweater vest and the bow tie that Jimmy had given him for Christmas seven years ago; fingering the tie, he made an impulse decision and quickly untied it and shoved it into his pocket.

_Who am I trying to impress?_

But before he had time to ponder that notion his wine was on the table and he gulped it all down in one fell sip. Nothing more than a little bit of warmth in his throat. _Maybe a barrel full would do the trick. Doubt he's got one of those chilling in the fridge, though._

When Richard arched an eyebrow he picked up the water and did the same.

"Thirsty," he said by way of explanation.

"I'd say. The white's smooth, isn't it? Please, have another glass." Richard was already tipping the bottle to pour him more, "You took a cab, right? I didn't hear a car pull up."

_The Kryptonian Express, that's me_. "I don't have a car." A neat way to dodge the question.

"Oh, I meant to ask, how's the apartment hunt going?" Richard finished pouring and set the bottle down, sitting directly across from Clark.

Clark debated lying but decided he had very little pride left to salvage at this point. "Not too well."

"Have you been able to find a place to stay in the meantime?" Richard was all concern and well meaning, and dammit if Clark didn't want to like him because he wasn't going to make it easy.

"Here and there." _The arctic, the store room closet, an odd roof every now and then. Nothing too unusual for a young reporter on the move, I'd say._ "I'll be back on my feet soon. Rent sure is higher than I remember it being."

"Yeah, real estate's gone crazy, especially these last two years. Perry tried to get me to go into a couple of deals with him last year but I've always held a firm policy that family and money make horrible bed partners, especially in the case of overbearing uncles."

Clark nodded, sipping his wine more carefully this time. The flavor spread rich over his tongue, heady and smooth just like Richard had said. "It was very kind of him to give me back my old job."

Richard laughed. "Are you kidding? He was practically jumping with joy when he heard you were back." He flashed Clark a grin, "Don't tell him I told you, though. He's so paranoid about his employees thinking he's gone 'soft.'"

"Really? I thought—" He turned his head when he heard footfalls on the stairs; one set was Lois's and one set was Jason's. Their voices sounded mere inches away although he hadn't been stretching his hearing. He saw Richard's head turn in the same direction, following the line of vision.

"Why does Mr. Clark get to be on TV so often, mommy?"

Clark nearly choked on his wine.

"What are you talking about, sweetie? He writes articles for our paper, he doesn't report the news on TV."

"But I see him all the time, he goes all over the world. He's—"

"Hi Lois!" Clark said in a booming voice, getting up and waving frantically, eyes wide and a frighteningly large smile on his face. He made an effort not to crush the delicate wineglass stem between his fingers.

Lois jumped, putting a hand on her chest. "Oh, hi Clark. I didn't hear you come in. Jason and I were just finishing up his homework."

Jason rolled his eyes a little. "But I don't _need_ your help, mommy."

She smiled, running her hand over his hair in an affectionate gesture. "Well, maybe I like to help you."

Richard went to stand before the oven, flipping the light on and leaning over to look inside, "You didn't try to help him with his spelling again, did you Lois?"

This time she rolled her eyes, pulling out Jason's chair and then going to the cabinets. "There's a reason they invented spellcheck, you know. I'm just teaching Jason the value of it."

"The last I heard, Mrs. Grunsky didn't agree with you on that point."

Lois waved a plate threateningly in Richard's direction. "I swear hat woman lives to frustrate me. I mean, _hello_, we are in the _twentieth century_ here, you'd think learning how to use a computer wouldn't kill her."

Richard snorted, covering his mouth with the oven mitt. Lois shot him a look, "What?"

"Hmm?" He opened the oven and looked very studiously inside. "I didn't say anything."

Lois handed Clark the stack of plates and sighed. "Men!" she exclaimed, as if Clark were a sympathizer to her cause.

Clark looked back and forth between them, utterly at a loss for what to say; he found his eyes lingering on Richard's form, bent at a very forward angle as he pulled out the roast. He had to look away for fear of burning holes into Richard's back; he just needed someone to tell him what to do, where to go. Lois had blown in like a storm he wasn't quite prepared to weather.

"Clark, can you set those down over there?" Lois said as she breezed by, going to the china cabinet.

He blinked at the space she had just been occupying. "What? Oh, of course!"

He turned heel and went to the table, relieved to have a task. Jason was already seated and watched him curiously.

"Is mommy making you set the table?" Jason said, his arms crossed on top of the table, feet kicking beneath it.

"Yup," Clark said, unable to stop the smile that he felt with his whole body.

"I'll help you," Jason said, taking the plates and setting them in front of the chairs next to him.

"Wow! Look how fast we got done!"

"Daddy says I'm a real good helper. Are you going to sit next to me, Mr. Clark?"

Clark took a joy-laced breath, deeply honored at the invitation. "Sure am, buddy." He did so, happy just to sit in silence until Jason spoke again.

"I'm glad you're better."

Clark listened carefully before answering to see if Lois and Richard were paying attention but they were busy arguing over the semantics of the 'chauvinist male patriarchy.'

"Me, too. It was a little scary there for awhile but I'm feeling great now."

"Were you scared on the boat?" Jason bit his lip, and leaning forward secretively he whispered, "I was real scared."

Clark leaned down, matching his tone, "Yeah, I sure was. Promise not to tell?"

Jason nodded soundlessly.

"Good, me too."

Jason solemnly held out his pinkie and they swore in the age-old tradition of children and not-quite-grown adults everywhere. Clark wished he could make the moment last forever.

"I hear you don't need your inhaler anymore, is that true?"

Jason nodded with a proud smile on his face. "Yeah, I can even run in gym now, daddy says maybe I won't get a D this time."

"I didn't do too well in gym when I was your age, either." He wondered how soon before Jason would have to pretend, or if that time would come. But he was young yet; Clark had been genuinely bad at gym up until age thirteen.

"I don't like gym. Danny always throws the ball at me when we play dodgeball." Jason's face dropped. "He says I'm the worst dodger he's ever seen."

Clark's fist tightened and he saw red so fast that he wondered if perhaps he was actually ill.

"Why doesn't your teacher tell him to play nice?" He managed to get out, holding his bunched fists close to his sides.

"Mr. Rutger says it's just a game."

He wanted to go hunt down this so-called man that would let bullies throw projectiles at a boy like Jason and show him what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a dodgeball thrown at the speed of sound.

The clanking of dishes and the smell of roasted onions brought him out of the red veil of rage threatening to envelop him; Richard and Lois were placing the entrees before them. They smelled heavenly and looked wonderful, but it took a great effort of will to concentrate on anything but Jason right now. He wanted to do was interrogate Richard and Lois about what they'd done the handle the situation with Danny. In all likelihood they'd done everything they could to handle the situation, but the fierce protectiveness that burned in his chest was nothing he'd known before, not even with Lois. This was beyond all reason, beyond all logic; he wanted to take Jason away from everything, he _needed _to ensure his safety. The urge was so strong that he actually had to interlace his fingers to keep them from reaching out.

He hadn't expected that seeing Jason would be easy, but he hadn't been prepared for the knife slicing him down the middle, leaving him open and helpless and vulnerable to anything and everything. There was just too much in this world that could hurt, too much that Jason should never have to see. He needed to know that he would be safe.

But there was nowhere really safe.

And it wasn't his place.

Clark looked around the table, taking in the sight of the beautiful meal and their beautiful family. It wasn't easy, perhaps the hardest thing he'd ever done to look into the face of all the dreams he could never have—and yet he couldn't help but feel pride swell in his chest, tempering the ache that begun to form the day he learned that he'd been born farther than the human eye could ever see. It was a strange comfort to see that the world, that Lois had, in fact, done just fine without him. She had made a life for herself and Jason. He glanced at Richard, sitting down across from him.

She had chosen well.

Richard, as if sensing the appraisal, raised his glass. "Bon appétit. We're glad to have you with us, Clark."

Clark raised his own, clinking it softly with Lois's and Richard's. "Thank you… thank you for having me."

And despite it all, he meant it.


	6. Chapter 6: Letting Go

**Author's Note: **Sorry this is so short and somewhat unsatisfactory! I'm trying to get to the good stuff, I really am :) I guess that's one reason I've been writing so many drabbles lately. It's easy for my attention span to wander when I need to write a long series.

* * *

Lois smiled, not really sure what she was smiling at anymore; she'd taken one second to look down at her peas and lost track of the conversation. If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that it was because she wasn't very motivated to follow it in the first place. Looking back down at her plate, she sighed inwardly, pushing the peas around in little track races in a style she'd learned from Jason. 

Richard knew. He knew she had a hard time talking Clark, knew that even when they were on the job it was eminently awkward. And still he'd invited him over, barely taking two seconds to consult her.

She didn't resent it, quite. But this was exhausting.

_I am so tired._

"So when did you start at The Planet, Clark?" Richard raised a slice of roast to his mouth.

She missed Clark's answer watching her fiancé eat; he'd insisted they make the roast. _Even if you don't want to eat it doesn't mean that Clark feels the same way_, he'd pointed out in his very reasonable way, but she just found herself getting mad at the sight, like he'd done it just to spite her. Digging angrily into her mashed potatoes, she forced herself to look away.

_Richard doesn't want to hurt you. Stop projecting. Theresa will probably tell you on Wednesday that you're harboring some secret desire to roast him in the oven and slice him up. _She smiled a little. _The things that woman finds in my psyche. Positively frightening._

"…has really become like a tabloid since Superman came back," Richard was saying, waving his fork in the air to mark his point.

"What's a tabloid, daddy?" Jason asked.

"Well… it's like a newspaper except it's all made up."

"Oh." Jason said. He cocked his head to the side. "Why do people read them?"

Clark tilted his head in a mirror gesture to Jason's. "You really think The Planet's like that now, Richard?"

"Well, son, people read them because they're fun. And while I don't think The Planet has quite come down to that level, the articles are certainly much more of the 'fun' variety now. Not that I'm complaining. Perry's got it right—Superman sells the paper and helps us keep our jobs, so I'm certainly not going to complain about that. He has dominated the headlines a bit, but you can't argue with Perry's logic, either."

"What logic is that?" Clark asked. Lois looked up, searching Clark's face to see if he was taking a light jab at Perry. _He wouldn't—would he?_ She was disconcerted at the idea that someone she had known for longer than Jason had been alive could open up to Richard in less than a few days.

"Oh, you know," Richard took a sip of wine and grinned, "His strategy for headlining every section with Superman. How _Why He Wears His Underwear_ _on the Outside_ goes to Fashion and _What Product Does He Use?_ goes to Health and Wellness. Burning questions that I've always wanted the answer to, I assure you."

Clark laughed, a short outburst, and he promptly brought his napkin to his mouth. Lois started to roll her eyes, a little exasperated at their silliness, but as the conversation continued, she couldn't maintain the comfortable mantle of the façade any longer.

"What product do you think he uses, Clark?"

"Who, Superman? Well—why—I don't think—he wouldn't." Clark ran a hand through his own long hair, and then he actually looked at his fingers as if they held the answer.

"Well, according to Paulette Vidal Sassoon is all the rage with the Superheroes this year. Maybe we should send him a complimentary pack and he'll be more willing to do interviews with us."

Lois felt Richard trying to look at her and she riveted her eyes to her plate.

_I don't care if he thinks he's okay with it. He's not. For that matter, I'm not okay with it._

"Do you use product, daddy?" Jason said, looking between Clark and Richard as if trying to figure out what this mysterious product was and how one would be able to tell if someone was using it.

Lois smiled, placing a hand on Jason's baby-soft hair and trying to stop the flood of emotion that was threatening to choke her.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

"Nope, no product for me, kiddo. Why?" He pulled out a few strands of hair and crossed his eyes trying to look at them. "You think I need some?"

"A little mousse wouldn't hurt," Clark mumbled with a smile and Lois promptly got up out of her chair, kissed Jason on top of his head.

"I'm sorry. Please excuse me for a minute." She practically ran for the bathroom with tears threatening in her eyes and slammed up against the door when it was closed.

_What the _hell_ is going on with me? Clark is talking about mousse and I'm a nervous wreck?_

She took slow, deep breaths, cupping her face in her hands and trying to let the thundering in her mind to subside into a gentle roar. The image that surfaced from the choppy waves was of Clark and Richard, laughing, sharing a smile spoke of a bond that might have been forged in minutes but would last a lifetime.

_We used to have that. We used to laugh like that_.

She remembered Richard doing a spot-on Charlie Chaplin impression at a restaurant once and making her laugh so hard her cheeks had been sore. Everyone in the restaurant had looked at them and she hadn't even cared that they were making a spectacle of themselves. Certainly Richard had not had any hesitation about sticking the forks into those loaves and making a fool of himself to cheer her up. Three weeks after Superman had left and she still been off-kilter. Even that early in their friendship he'd been able to sense what she needed.

And it had felt so good when Richard gave her flowers, did all the normal things that men were supposed to do with women—it had felt good to be wanted, really good. Helped her remember when she most needed it that her life, in fact, did _not_ revolve around Superman.

_But what do I need now?_

The answer was unfortunately one she'd known right from the start. And even if it wasn't the easy one, it calmed the storm threatening to overtake her, settled the waves down to gentle swells.

_A friend_.

She smiled and breathed for what must have been the first time in months.


	7. Chapter 7: Coming Together

**Author's Note: **Okay, I've got to 'fess up to something before anyone reads this chapter. There's a detail in Chapter 2 that I completely contradict here. It's partially because I started this story not too long after seeing the film and thus didn't have as much time to think about how the premovie events went; or I could blame it on the fact that I always wait, like, two months between each update. Either way, I don't think it's anything too major that messes with the rest of the storyline; a tiny shift to the scene in Ch. 2 and this makes perfect sense. I considered going back and re uploading that Chapter but I really hate doing that unless absolutely necessary, so I figured this explanation would suffice. And a part of me is hoping that it's been so long since Ch. 2 came out that no one will even remember what I'm talking about, so... ;)

Anyway, on with the long overdue chapter!

* * *

"That was fun," Richard said, loosening his tie, keeping his tone light. It would be impossible not to notice the tension radiating off Lois, but he knew that trying to broach the topic before she was ready could very well mean that they'd never discuss it. If she couldn't get her footing secure in an argument she wouldn't participate at all.

_And how many times over the years have we bottled up all the things we've needed to say?_

He started working at his shirt, surprised when she actually responded to his comment.

"I'm glad you invited him," she said, shifting her body so she was half-facing him now, her dark curls sweeping down and covering her face.

_Then why do you sound so sad?_ "Sorry I didn't tell you sooner—it was a last minute thing. Poor guy seems like he could use some friends. I guess five years was a little longer than he thought, huh?"

Lois's head jerked up at that, eyes narrowing and honing in one him. He blinked; he wasn't used to seeing the steely reporter's gaze here in the house—she usually reserved that for interviews.

"What did you say?"

Richard froze. "Clark could use some friends?"

The whites of her eyes slowly re-appeared. "Yeah, sure." She shook her head like she was clearing it and dropped her gaze again.

"Richard, there's something I… something I need to talk to you about."

He sat on the bed and took her hand, as much an anchor for himself as a comfort to her. He was thrown off-balance by the note of—what was it? Regret? Distress? But no, Lois wasn't a damsel in distress. Not even for Superman.

"What is it, honey?"

"Oh, Christ, Richard." Her fist closed up tighter in his hand and he saw the fine frown lines form at the sides of her mouth. "Don't call me that."

"I—"

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. This is just really… I hate myself for this."

He scooted closer, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as all that."

_I've been expecting it for weeks now, anyway._

She barked out a laugh that was actually painful to hear, head dropping further. "What if I told you that I lied to you about Jason's birthdate?"

He'd already had words prepared about how it was okay that she was still in love with… with, well, him. About how he understood. But this wasn't processing.

_Lied? Why would she…?_

"Oh."

And then there wasn't enough air in the room to understand what she was telling him—God, the pain—it was lightning swift and deadly, clutching around his heart and closing up his throat so that not a sound would come out.

"While you were gone, you remember?" She spoke in a monotone that trembled just below the surface. "I was the only one who knew how to contact you, other than Perry. And I told him not to talk to you about it because I was worried it would distract you while you were in a war zone."

He swallowed down the weight of it, hardly able to stomach it, arm locked onto Lois's shoulder.

"I called you as soon as he was out of the hospital. And a few people made comments… but not many. Jason was so sickly that first month that no one was too suspicious. No one knew for sure when we'd gone from being friends to…"

The trembling in her voice shifted into her body; he felt her crumbling apart under his touch.

"Anyway." She dashed at her eyes. "I didn't want it to be true, Richard. I wanted you to be… I wanted us to be…"

He choked out the words. "A family?"

"Yes," she said, voice dripping with condemnation. "I thought I could put everything behind me—start a real life. I couldn't really think, watching them put all those tubes in Jason and worrying about you coming back in a body bag. And when you came back… the way you looked at Jason… I couldn't. I couldn't take that away from you."

An eternity later, she raised her head, looking up at him. "I did what I thought I had to."

The instinct to reassure her was impossible to resist, even bleeding from freshly opened wounds as he was. "I don't care where Jason came from. He's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

A tight smile pulled at her lips. "Somehow, I knew you'd say that."

He tried to smile back but couldn't muster up the energy. "Was there something else I was supposed to say?"

"I think this is the part where you hurl names at me and storm out," She said, relaxing into her smile a bit. "That would make it easier for me, you know."

He took a breath. "I don't think Lanes are cut out for taking the easy way."

She chuckled, a little raw around the edges, but nothing that time wouldn't heal. He hoped. Putting a hand on his cheek, she looked up at him uncertainly.

"There's more?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"No, but…" She bit her lip. "You're Jason's father. There's nothing that will change that."

And the part of him that'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop since the pieces had started fitting together tensed.

"But…?"

_Jesus. Not Jason, too_.

She quirked her head to the side. "But nothing." Her eyes slitted into the answer-extracting gaze again. "What did you think I was going to say?"

"I—" Now he was the one who didn't know how to say his piece. "I thought since he's back, that…"

_I can't even think it, much less say it_.

She rose up off the bed, pacing, nervous energy bouncing off her.

"You really think there's still something between me and him? After all this time?"

Richard shrugged. "Like you said. He's Superman." He cringed. "What more would Jason need?"

Chewing at her thumbnail, she continued pacing, backlit by the moonlight streaming in the window. She looked like a vision even in her plainest pajamas.

And he couldn't help thinking that he'd resigned himself to the fact that he'd never have her shortly after they met. That all of this had been icing on the cake. But Jason… if he lost Jason…

_Not my boy. I can't lose my boy_.

"Don't even talk like that," she snapped. "If Superman thinks he can just up and act like the last five years didn't happen, well. That's his business." She went to stand in front of the window, as if she were hoping that Superman might hear her, too. "It's not that I don't want him to see Jason. I do. But it's going to be on my terms."

Richard rose, coming up behind her.

"You have my blessing," he said, quiet.

He was glad when she didn't question him, because he wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about the full implication of the words just yet—if he was ready to believe that ending five years was so simple as four words, spoken from the heart.

* * *

When Richard stifled another yawn Clark raised an eyebrow. "Long night?" He asked, sliding into the booth and setting down his briefcase while Richard did the same.

Richard's lips quirked. "You could say that." He opened the menu and shut it just as quickly, nodding like he'd just wanted to double check his order. _He wasn't kidding about this being his favorite place for lunch, was he?_

"I went on a late night flight, actually. To clear my head." He smiled. "That probably sounds crazy, doesn't it? Taking a plane out at 3a.m. and just circling around. But that's what I did."

"Not at all." Clark couldn't help but smile back; something about Richard's smile was so open and infectious that it just begged to be shared. "In fact, I know exactly what you're talking about."

"Really? You fly, too?"

"Oh, not planes," Clark heard himself saying; he grabbed the menu and held it up in front of his face to cover up the fact that his face had just re-arranged into an expression of panic.

Why_ did I just tell him that? Oh, God, think of something fast—_

But thinking fast wasn't really Clark's strong point. Oh, he could go through an advanced Trigonometry book and have every problem solved a millisecond after he'd finished reading it, but when it came to lying on the spot he didn't really have the flair for it.

"Paraglider? Clark, I wouldn't have taken you for the type."

He almost dropped his menu. "Yes! That!" He lifted his hands up in some motion that he hoped looked reminiscent of a paraglider. "That's me."

"You don't go paragliding at 3a.m., do you?" Richard looked worried, possibly because Clark could feel a flush spreading from his neck to his forehead.

"Oh, no, of course not. No. Never."

_Well, at least that's the truth._

"Some weekend you should teach me—and I can take you out on the plane. What do you say?"

_That I need to learn how to paraglide today after work?_ "That sounds swell."

Thankfully the waitress came to take their order before Clark could get himself in any more trouble and watching Richard order for both of them in fluent Cantonese, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He'd have to watch himself around Richard. The man was more dangerous than he looked.

* * *

"Jason likes you," Richard said, apropos of nothing other than he'd been meaning to tell Clark. "He asked if you could come over to dinner every night."

Clark fumbled with his snow pea, picking it up and dropping it three successive times. The reporter actually seemed a little panicked, and without thinking, Richard reached out and snagging the snow pea in his chopsticks deftly, holding it up in front of Clark's face.

Clark's eyes widened. "I'm sorry—I didn't—I'm not used to—"

"Don't apologize." _Why are you always apologizing to me? _Richard moved it a bit closer. "Just eat."

Clark ate the pea with the strangest expression on his face, blinking rapidly like he was trying to clear his vision. "Thanks."

Richard smiled. Clark was always so heartfelt. "My pleasure," he said, getting back to his own dish of Hong Kong style noodles.

"And, uh, I like Jason. Too."

"He's a good kid, isn't he?" Richard felt the noodles settled like a hard rock in his clenching stomach, so he tried to change the subject.

"We'd love to have you again, sometime, if you don't mind eating vegetarian. Lois put her foot down on that. But I do make some pretty mean veggie noodles, and if you close your eyes, the tofu almost tastes the same."

"_Tofu_?"

"Tofu," Richard said grimly. "Can you believe it? Now that Jason can eat soy, it's one his favorite foods. I swear that boy gets it all from his—"

_Damn_.

It was so easy to forget.

"Well, anyway," he said, bravely soldiering on, taking a heaping sip of tea to cover up the sudden break in his voice, "Our door's always open. I know you've been out of the country for a long time, and I remember how hard it can be to get back into the flow of things."

"I—yes. I'd love to come to dinner again."

"Great," Richard said. "And I can show you Marina."

"Marina?" Clark's mobile brows drew together, "I thought your new cat's name was Little Lane?"

Richard laughed, resisting the temptation to reach across the table and smooth the tiny wrinkle marring Clark's face. "Marina's my plane—my other baby. She's been with me for five years now, never steered me wrong."

"Oh! Now I remem—I mean, uh, right. Your plane."

"Can't let a lovely lady like that steer me around the skies without a name, can I?" He pointed his chopsticks at Clark. "You should feel lucky—usually I don't introduce her until the third date."

Clark blinked at him a few times before he got the joke and laughed a little too loudly. Richard grinned, digging into his noodles, but the hard pit in his stomach had been replaced with an odd, light feeling.

_Third date?_

_And what did I mean by _that?


	8. Chapter 8: New Beginnings

She was beautiful in the soft lighting of the restaurant, hair fluttering a dark halo around her glowing skin. Richard watched her, watched her with an intensity that she'd begun to feel halfway through the meal; their conversation had gone from a cheerful lilt into low murmurs and was now, finally, dwindled into heavy silence. 

He'd spent the meal willing himself to remember. To remember what it had felt like when he'd brought her here for the first time, how tightly the fist around his heart had squeezed when he'd shown her the ring and been utterly unsure of its reception. To want her just as much as he had then, to see the same woman who'd said _yes_ to him all those years ago, to feel the sheer release of that single breathy syllable, here and now.

But his world had so completely shifted axis that no matter how hard he looked, hoped, _prayed_, he couldn't find his way here any more.

Jason wasn't his, not biologically. Lois wasn't his, in her heart.

And now he had to free them both from a promise that had hardened into a shackle and nearly shattered to breaking by the return of Superman.

She looked at him, her pale blue eyes understanding.

_Never have—never will—meet another woman like her._

He grasped the glass between his thumb and index finger, raising it with a small smile.

"To six years," he said.

**------------**

She slipped out of her heels, stood up on her tiptoes and kissed both his cheeks.

"Thank you," she said, resting her arms on his shoulders.

"For what?" He asked, tipping his head back and placing a hand on her waist. Her face was even more pale in the moonlight coming through their bedroom window.

"Everything."

He drew her to the bed, and they sat, side by side, her head on his shoulder.

"It's time, isn't it?" she said, walking her fingers over his wrist.

"Time for what?" He asked, even though he didn't need to.

"To decide." She sidled her hand over his, playing with the ring. "Isn't that why you were boring holes into my forehead all night at dinner?"

He wanted to respond to her light tone, laugh, even just a small smile, but he couldn't. He couldn't pretend anymore. "Actually, I was thinking about how much has changed in these past six years."

Her silence said more than her words could have.

He took a deep breath. "You meant what you said? About Jason?"

She nodded against his neck. "Every word, Richard. Just try and see someone take him away from you."

At that, he had to smile; he knew that tone well enough. It usually resulted in bodily harm for someone who got in Lois's way. She and the law were on his side; he'd legally adopted Jason not long after his birth.

Maybe even then he'd known.

That still didn't make this easy.

"You don't have to worry about me," he said, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "I'm pretty hard to get rid of."

She slipped her thumb over his. "Good. Because I don't want to get rid of you."

He looked down at her, and wished he didn't have to say the words. "But you don't want to marry me." _I don't know when it went from being a question to a guarantee._

"I—" She looked down, biting her lip.

He tiled her chin up, and she finally met his gaze. He saw his answer there.

Standing, he walked over to the window, fists clenched at his sides. He tried to breathe, tried to remind himself that he'd pushed it because it was the right thing to do, that it was better to know the truth—

"I—I wish I did, Richard. I'm sorry."

Sometime later, he heard the door close behind him.

Closing his eyes against the brilliant flares of pain in his chest, the full implication of what had happened sank in.

_I already knew. How can something I know be so much worse to hear aloud?_

He'd expected it to be painful. To say he hadn't seen it coming—well, that would be a lie. And he couldn't have been more right. The thought that the woman he'd been so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with was nothing more than his friend—he refused to consider even for a second that they wouldn't be able to stay friends—well, even if it's what was best for everyone involved, it still hurt.

He leaned against the windowsill, watching the boats sway gently in the water. He wasn't sure how long he stood like that, watching the moon sink in the sky, the stars winking pale in the wash of artificial lights that lined the homes.

When he finally turned around, he saw the ring lying on the bed, with a small slip of paper underneath it.

He laughed mirthlessly; it was oddly appropriate. Lois had always wielded the pen like a fine-tooled sword.

Grabbing them both, he went downstairs and got the keys for Marina.

**----------------------**

The waves lapped at his feet, seeping the heat from him in gentle washes of ice.

He set the ring down in the sand, admiring its perfect symmetry, the way it shone even under the water. He thought about laying down the note with it, letting the water take them both; abdicate his responsibility, his commitment.

But Lois knew him better than that.

The light was faint, but Lois wrote like she did everything else: in broad, strong strokes, visible even in the dead of night. Visible even when her eyes were turned towards the sky.

_Call it a reporter's hunch_, she'd started, and he shook his head, somehow not surprised. On paper, she never beat around the bush. _I guess we've both seen it coming for awhile now, haven't we? I know you have. I guess I didn't want to._

_Theresa told me to write this. At first I told her she was crazy, but the past few weeks I got that itch—you know the one. When your fingers just want to write a story._

_She told me it would help me sort out my emotions. Give me clarity._

_Well, Richard, this is my fourth draft, and I'm not sure if I want any clarity. Because if there's one thing I want you to know, it's that I love you. But this isn't working, is it? And I just keep looking at this ring and thinking how unfair it is to you._

_When you asked me to marry you, I meant what I said. You don't know how much I wanted that for us. For Jason. You have every right to hate me for what I did, but I _wanted_ you to be Jason's father. Sometimes I wanted it so much that I forgot you weren't._

_I wish I could have told you this. If you're reading this, I guess I couldn't find the words. Ironic, isn't it? But there's no way I can really tell you how sorry I am._

_And I guess there's no nice way to say I'm not ready._

He let the paper fall from his fingers and lay back on the shore.

There was nothing he could say to that.

* * *

He woke up to a dark shadow passing over his eyes.

"Richard?"

He blinked; the sun was criminally bright this morning. _Why did she have to open the blinds so early?_

"What time is it?" he said, his voice low and scratchy. When he reached out for his alarm block, he came back with a fistful of sand.

"Eight a.m.," the disembodied voice offered helpfully.

"Shit," he groaned, sitting up.

"Are you alright, Mr. White?" A warm, steadying hand rested on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I just need a—"

First he saw the red boots. Disbelieving, his eyes traveled upwards, slowly assimilating the otherworldly fabric—the sand didn't stick to it, he noted in some part of his mind that was still functioning—and at the end of their trek, reached the hero's symbol.

"Marina wasn't moored very securely," Superman chided him, looking as if he was about to wag his finger.

"Sorry," Richard said automatically, dumbstruck by the sheer absurdity of this situation.

"I towed her back," he gestured to where she was rocking on the waves, "and she'll stay put this time. Is there anything else I can do for you?" His dark brows knitting together. The same part of his mind that had been cataloguing the suit took notice of the fact that Superman looked just as stunning kneeling on a beach as he had when he'd been pulling them out of the ocean.

Another part of his mind thought, _Stay away from my son_ and simultaneously, _If it weren't for him, you wouldn't even have one._

"Actually, yes," he said slowly, trying to re-focus. "I wanted to thank you. For what you did for us, on the ship."

Superman drew his hand back. He sat down, looking out towards the sea, the facets of his eyes shuttered down behind soot-black lashes.

_If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked… embarrassed._ He quickly dismissed the notion as ridiculous—_the Man of Steel, embarrassed?—_but his eyes were still disagreeing with him.

"Please…don't."

"Why not?" Richard asked, genuinely puzzled.

"I really didn't… anyone would have done the same in my position."

"Not anyone." Richard said. He had the feeling that he'd be having this conversation with Jason later on. "Not Lex Luthor."

Superman smiled. _There, that's better_. Leaning back, the hero propped himself up on one arm. Richard hadn't known it was possible to look casual in a skintight fullbody suit, yet here he was managing it. "You may have a point, Mr. White."

He turned his head back towards Richard. The full power of his stare stirred the nerves behind Richard's eyes. "But you would have."

Richard swallowed. "Maybe. But that doesn't change the fact that we owe you our lives."

Superman's eyes flashed, and abruptly, he was standing again.

"You don't owe me anything, Mr. White."

Richard thought carefully before speaking again, sensing that with the wrong word he'd find himself talking to a rapidly shrinking dot in the sky.

"Every new day I have with Jason I have is a blessing," he finally said, too wrung out to be anything but honest now. "I wanted to thank you for that."

Superman's head bowed, a striking silhouette rendered in sunlight, Hercules carved from shadows and morning grace.

"And to tell you… that I won't stand in your way. With Jason." He gestured to where the ring glinted in the sand, teasingly catching the fractures of light. "Or with Lois."

"No—" Superman's mouth worked silently for a moment, as if he was too overwhelmed to speak.

"She's yours!" Richard screamed, finally snapping, all the hours of pent-up tension shaking him apart at the seams, his body numb. He was freefalling, lost in the air, mind too shell-shocked to notice the way Superman's earnest expression splintered, how he stepped back like he'd received a physical blow.

"I'm sorry, Ri—" Superman backed away even further. "I'm sorry."

The sand stirred in the wake of his flight.

"I've been hearing that a lot lately," Richard told the trail of parted air that Superman had left behind, and he started laughing and laughing until the laughter became tears and he couldn't tell the difference.

* * *

He walked into Tam's Chinese Delights to find Clark already there.

"Long night?" Clark asked as he slid into the booth, slurping down a snow pea.

But before Richard could even reply, a waiter came over with two dishes.

"I ordered just in case," Clark looked embarrassed. Only Clark could act like treating a friend to lunch was a crime. "Perry said you'd probably be coming in late today."

Richard looked at the food—the scents of spicy chicken and his favorite Hong Kong style noodles nearly brought him to his knees—and then at Clark, who was dutifully practicing with his chopsticks, just like Richard had shown him.

_Crazier things have happened_, he thought, smiling as the idea popped into his head. He was perfectly aware that he was not of sound mind, and that it was never wise to make a decision on less than eight—or less than two hours, in his case—of sleep.

He could have cared less. Smiling, he picked up his chopsticks and started to dig in.

"Clark," he said, "how do you feel about roommates?"


End file.
